


I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Piano, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the scuffle near the Whomping Willow with Sirius, Lupin and his friends, Harry hears something when he's up way past his bedtime and goes to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before I was even really into Harry Potter, before I'd read any of the books. I'm now working my way through the book series (I'm almost done with book four) and I found this again, so I thought I'd post it.

Soft as air, he heard it.

 

He was certain he heard it.

 

Harry Potter, thirteen years old and studying beneath his covers for an upcoming potions test that Professor Snape promised would be exceedingly difficult – up far past his bed time – lifted his head when he swore he could hear the faint sound of piano music wafting up from somewhere out in the hall.

 

Furrowing his brow, when he concentrated on it – yes, it was certainly there. In the middle of the night, piano music was floating around somewhere outside the Gryffindor common room.

 

Slipping out from beneath his covers and putting his feet in his slippers, he pulled his bathrobe on and wrapped it tightly around his body. He padded silently to the portrait hole and headed through it, slipping out through the hole in the wall. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, and could get in a lot of trouble if he were caught by Filch or Ms. Norris – or worse, Peeves.

But the piano music – stronger now that he was out in the cold air of the hallway – was tugging on his curiosity a little too strongly. He started in the direction he could hear it coming from, wondering for a moment if he should have woken Ron to come with him. It was too late now – his feet carrying him towards the slow, haunting music before he could think about it.

 

He stumbled against the wall a few times in his pursuit of the music. He was still dizzy – his recent run-in with the dementors by the lake left him feeling very drained. It was the first time he was back in his bed after using the time turner with Hermione and setting his Godfather free from his prison atop the school. The past dozen hours had been nothing but a hectic, painful blur, but he’d had enough sense to remember Snape’s pledged test, that he’d been far too busy to study for with all the stress of the previous few days.  

 

He found himself wandering down familiar corridors, passing the room where he’d taken lessons from Professor Lupin. The realization of that man being friends not only with his Godfather Sirius, but both of his parents still reeling through his head when he put his attention to it. The door was open and he looked at an open, empty suitcase on the desk without seeing it.

 

Passing still through the halls, following the sound light as air, Harry finally found himself stopping in front of an open door. It led to what looked like a chorus room – he knew very little about music and never bothered himself with it much, so it made sense that he’d never noticed the room full of instruments.

Peering inside, light on his feet, Harry could see the moonlight streaming in through he nearby window and illuminating the back of someone sitting on an old piano bench, fingers light on pallid keys.

 

Harry had thought he would see a ghost playing the piano, or perhaps a piano playing itself – but to see a person sitting there almost made him squeak with fright. He could easily be caught out of bed!

 

Looking closer after a heartbeat of fear, Harry recognized the pale brown hair and tattered robes spread neatly over the back of the bench – the person playing the piano was Professor Lupin.

 

A little surprised to see him up and around to soon after the horrid episode they’d all suffered near the Whomping Willow, Harry moved a half-step closer. He could see bandages wrapped about his professor’s arms, his robes’ sleeves rolled up to his elbows so they wouldn’t get in his way as his thin, nimble fingers moved over the keys like they were trying to dance with the strips of ivory.

 

Harry drew in a soft breath when he heard the tender voice of the often well-spoken Professor begin to sing, accompanying the gentle piano music with a tone that the young Gryffindor could only describe as broken.

 

“ _All around me are familiar faces_

_Worn out places, worn out faces_

_Bright and early for their daily races_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere,_ ”

 

Harry closed his lips, breathing quietly through his nose as he pressed himself into the door frame, watching his professor’s shoulders droop ever so slightly as he sang. The words were scarcely above a whisper – just loud enough to carry a soft tune that accompanied the music brilliantly.

 

“ _Their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression_

_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow,_ ”

 

Harry was filled with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He felt as though if he’d heard this coming from the man two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have nearly the same feeling. Since then, he’d learned that this man was friends with his parents – his father. Friends with his godfather, Sirius, the man who offered to take him away from the Dursleys and the misery they brought upon the young wizard. Friends with the man he’d come to care about more than most anyone else in just the past day.

 

And a werewolf, on top of all that. He hadn’t had much time to come to terms with this – certainly not as much as he would have needed to be comfortable with the fact that his professor was a werewolf.

But Remus Lupin was probably one of the bravest people he knew at this point in his life, standing up to the monster part of him that he’d have to face for the rest of his entire life.

 

Pressing his lips together in a firm line, Harry stepped cautiously forward, wringing his hands in his cloak as he sidled around a music stand that seemed to be sighing with sleep.

 

“ _And I find it kind of funny_

_I find it kind of sad_

_That the dreams in which I’m dying_

_Are the best I’ve ever had._ ”

 

The brokenness in which the words were drained with made Harry’s throat tighten and a hot prickling well up in his eyes. Harry suddenly wished he could see the man’s face. But too afraid to approach him now, he stayed put, listening to him continue his soft-spoken song.

 

“ _I find it hard to tell you_

_I find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles_

_It’s a very, very_ ”

 

Harry found himself mouthing the words with his professor the second time he uttered “mad world” in a row. A tear threatened to escape his eye, but he quickly ousted the rebellious wetness with the edge of his bathrobe’s sleeve.

 

“ _Went to school and I was very nervous_

_No one knew me, no one knew me_

_Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson?_

_Look right through me, look right through me,_ ”

 

Those tears that had been trying so hard to escape left his eyes now, sprinting away from emerald green hues and leaving glittering trails down his cheeks.

He knew how that felt – most people did. It made Professor Lupin seem all that much more human.

 

When he’d been to muggle school, Harry felt that way more than ever. Kids didn’t want to talk to him for fear of Dudley’s wrath, teachers ignored him almost entirely – unless he was doing something wrong. No one seemed to recognize what he did unless he didn’t do it.

 

“ _And I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad,_

 _The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had._ ”

 

Harry couldn’t take it. Turning on his heel and padding quickly out of the room, leaving behind the soft piano music and gentle voice of his broken professor, leaving behind the last words in his song, he raced back through the halls. Unable to return to his bed so quickly, Harry collapsed next to the portrait of the fat lady, cupping his hand inside his sleeve and flattening it to his mouth, weeping quietly into the terrycloth.

 

He couldn’t understand it – not really.

 

The words tumbled through his head, the gentle words replaying themselves through his ears. His chest was tight, his eyes were stinging, his sinuses pulsing. Blood pounded in his ears, his throat tightened anxiously around a new round of sobs before they broke through the tension. 

 

The calm sorrow with which his professor had conveyed the words of his song had Harry reeling. Words with so much feeling, so much submissive passion weaved into every careful lyric, it had the young Gryffindor crying until he thought his eyes would melt right out of his head.

 

 

 

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles, it’s a very, very_

_Mad world._

 

 

 


End file.
